


Ficlet Drivel(s)

by Life



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Life/pseuds/Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of ficlets that I had written in desperate attempts to escape from reality (honestly, reality is cruel and unrelenting). The chapters will display better summaries pertaining to individual ficlet. As a novice writer, please be informed that the author will not be responsible for any offence caused on the reader from poor writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ficlet Drivel(s)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock (TV) is not mine, but my imaginations are. Ain't it great?

**Chapter Summary** : John receives an unfortunate news of one of his former army comrades, and Sherlock inadvertently makes light of the situation.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock entered the kitchen in a good mood on Thursday morning after informing the New Scotland Yard of their incompetence and stupidity by pointing out the clues that they had missed (more than those that they had uncovered, really. It was a wonder how they thought deserving of the taxes that civilians paid). As he moved to check his current experiment in the fridge, he noticed John standing still by the kitchen counter, letter in hand.

 

 

_T-shirt, jeans, windbreaker: slightly damp – morning shower discontinued twenty minutes ago;  runners: some crusted mud – drying time estimated at one hour, Tesco grocery bag on the counter – not yet put away and ice cream is melting, letter in hand: express; envelope opened using hand rather than a letter opener, indicating its importance and urgency upon recognizing the name of the sender. The sender did not know John's mobile or else the message would have been texted; same for e-mail. Someone who had access to John's home address but not personal enough for phone or electronic address. Someone who knew John before he returned to London. Military?_

 

_  
_

Sherlock took a better glance at the ragged envelope that lay discarded on the counter, soaking up moisture from the groceries: _white and plain, one postage stamp: local home address sent to Captain John H. Watson. Formal title suggests unfamiliarity; recognition only in army capacity. Conclusion: a family member of John's old army friend – acquaintance? – sent the letter, which John received via courier as soon as he arrived from shopping; possibly containing the news of death or other alarming information._

 

_  
_

"John. Are you alright?"

 

"Hmm. Huh? Oh, you're back. Sorry. I hadn't realized..."

 

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he observed John shaken out of his reverie and stammering, busily organizing the grocery items, appearing not in the least offended by two mouldy feet encased in glass on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

 

 

_Absence of mind, excessive organizing of the groceries, which demonstrate the wish to resume normalcy, coupled with the previous state of shock... Yes, definitely jarring; certainly news about death of former comrade._

 

_  
_

"Who was it?"

 

"Sorry?"

 

"The person that died. Who was it?"

 

 

John stilled at Sherlock's question and then let out a long sigh as he carded his fingers through his hair.

 

 

"I don't know why I'm still surprised at you finding what I'm up to. Lieutenant Samuel Pons. His sister invited me to his funeral. I haven't heard of any attack to where he was stationed – and I have been keeping tabs – so it must have been suicide."

 

"I'm sorry." Living with John for three years now allowed Sherlock to feel a semblance of what normal people experienced in specific situations. Although he mismatched the appropriate responses sometimes, expressing condolence when faced with the death of a friend and loved one was a familiar one given their frequent encounter with victims' families. It was one of the things that John had drilled into Sherlock before they were allowed to interview witnesses by Lestrade.

 

"Me, too, though the worst thing is that I'm not surprised at the news. He's the third from my unit that bit the bullet. I would have, too, if I hadn't...

 

 

John hesitated, but as soon as he saw Sherlock's eyes gazing penetratingly at his own from under the dark curls, he felt the need to finish the sentence. After all, it has been almost four years. _Ha, wonder what my psychiatrist will have to say._

 

 

...if I hadn't met you."

 

 

As soon as John finished the sentence, he was enveloped into Sherlock's warm embrace. Sherlock tightened his hold around John's waist as he breathed deeply into the juncture of John's neck.

 

 

"The sentiment is mutual, John. I most likely would have used again or not ever care about my life had it not been for our meeting."

 

"And our relationship."

 

"Yes. I agree that sexual intimacy has indeed benefited us greatly." To prove his point, Sherlock bit into the side of John's neck and sucked gently, eliciting strained moans from the doctor.

 

"Glad you approve." John smirked at Sherlock's antics. Ever since learning about all that entailed in a romantic relationship, Sherlock splurged himself on the physical aspects as soon and as often as he found the opportunity. Asexual sociopath my ass.

 

"When is the funeral?"

 

"Saturday. I'll need to drop off my uniform tomorrow."

 

"We can go together. I've nothing on the website and Lestrade should be busy with paperwork."

 

 

Sherlock continued to litter kisses down the side of John's body and undress him at the same time.

 

 

"And John..."

 

"Hmm?"

 

 

John felt slightly annoyed at the prolonged conversation since he was currently busying himself with unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

 

 

"May I ask for a favour?"

 

 

Sherlock's question stunned John. Panic and alarm began to build inside John's mind. Sherlock rarely asked for favours, let alone in such a polite manner. He seemed almost... hesitant, as if John might blow up if he elaborated. _Something I might not like, then._ John gulped to steady himself for the oncoming dread.

 

 

"Yes. What is it?"

 

"Since you're dropping off your uniform tomorrow anyways, can you put them on for me?"

 

"What, now?" John furrowed his brows as the mounting frustration in his pants prevented his brain from further processing Sherlock's request.

 

" _Especially_ now." Sherlock nodded solemnly and continued to disrobe John.

 

"Why do you... Oh! _Oh._ " Understanding dawned on John's eyes and his face immediately coloured crimson to the ears as the full weight of the request was registered. __

 

_Seriously, the kink Sherlock has..._

 

_  
_

"I, I'm not sure where they are. I haven't unpacked all the boxes since I've moved, and it might even be back at my parents'..."

 

"It's in the box labelled Academy on the second row among those rested on the closet floor."

 

"How...? When? What the hell, Sherlock!"

 

 

"I'll go get them for you." Sherlock smiled coyly at John and ran to theirroom (Sherlock and John eventually shared a room since the couch sufficiently served as a doghouse for Sherlock), his strides quickened by excitement.

 

 

"Sherlock! Wait! I can't get them dirty... Damn it, Sherlock! I am _not_ taking the uniform to cleaners with unmentionable stains soiling the clothes!!!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

True to his words, it was Sherlock who had to explain the reasoning behind _special care_ that the uniform required for cleaning by Friday evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I initially focused on military uniform kink for John, but somehow, it turned into quite a non-sexual and somewhat sombre story. Disappointing, I know. I have a RPF borderline PWP ficlet in progress, so hopefully my - and perhaps the audience's - libido will be better satisfied compared to this one. I must admit, though, I'm rubbish at writing porn. Boring, non-sensical literature on the other hand, is my specialty. Thank you for reading this drivel. Suggestions for kink and improvements to writing are always welcome. 
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
